


Hot City Nights

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel 616
Genre: Banter, Humor, M/M, Overstimulation, Rimming, Wade knows Peter's identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets woken up at two in the morning by an unfortunately familiar face - or, at least, mask. At least he gets rewarded for his troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot City Nights

Peter shifts in his sleep, and he lets out a quiet yawn, opening up heavy eyelids to see-

Oh, for God's sake.

“Get _out_ , Wade.” Deadpool is perched on his _bedside_ table, of all things, and Peter's phone, alarm clock and books have been thrown messily across the floor.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine!”

“What time is it?”

“Two.”

“Two AM?” Peter groans and pulls his pillow closer, dropping his face into it and hoping that Wade will just go _away_.

“Petey, Petey, come _on_.” He says in a wheedling tone, and even through the pillow Peter can hear it clear as anything – Spidey senses aren't great in _all_ respects. “Petey, you-”

“Were you watching me sleep?” Peter asks, sitting up straight and looking at Wade tiredly. He has his mask pulled up to bare his mouth, but the costume is still on – _just_ the costume, this time, without any extras over the top of it; Peter doesn't care that Wade can see his face, because Wade is _Wade_. He's used to it. Him.

“Uh-”

“The correct answer is yes.”

“You're just so _cute_ , Spidey!” Wade says earnestly, in such a tone that Peter can't honestly tell whether he's joking or not. He takes that tone a lot.

“Ugh.” is Peter's response.

“Can I sleep here?”

“Define “sleep here”.” Peter says, and he flicks his thumb not-subtly at the armchair in the corner of the room, and Deadpool shrugs his shoulders, glancing at the armchair and then at Peter. God, it's hot. Deadpool had left the window open, but even with that, and the fact that Peter's only in his PJ shorts, it's too hot.

“Say, I go to town on that ass with my tongue, and then we cuddle up to each other, yes/yes?” Peter stares at him.

“ _What_?”

“What?”

“No, what did you just say?”

“What did who just say?” Deadpool says, and God, Peter _hates_ it when he acts like a dumbass.

“ _Wade!”_

“What did _I_ just say?” Peter takes in a deep, slow breath and closes his eyes. You don't kill people, Peter. You're Spiderman. Killing people isn't what you do: it's not who you are. He cracks open one eye to look at Wade, who is _peering_ down at him with that creepy fascination he usually has for Peter.

Could Spiderman kill a dude? Just this once? If he'd get back up anyway?

“Did you just say you wanted to sleep with me?” Peter asks after a pause.

“Uh, yeah, dude. Hotels are closed.”

“Hotels don't close, Wade.”

“Yet your heart closes to _me!”_

“Wade. It's 2AM. I'm really tired.”

“I can help you get back to sleep, Petey.” Wade says in what, Peter guesses, he thinks is a seductive tone. He's gotta be dreaming.

Wade slides forwards, from the bedside table and onto the bed, and he pushes Peter onto his belly, and he's- he's actually pretty _heavy_ on the lower part of Peter's thighs, and Peter shouldn't be _hot_ – like, hot hot, like hot like he lives in NYC in August – but his cheeks are flushing, and Deadpool's _hands_ are pulling down his shorts, and oh, oh, is he actually letting Wade do this?

“Dat _ass._ ” Wade whispers with a sort of religious reverence.

“What?”

“Nothing, Spidey, nothing.” Wade says in a louder voice, and then his hands grab at Peter's asscheeks, playing over and massaging the flesh of them, and Peter _groans_. “You know, Petey, this ass is like, perfect. Look at these buns! My anaconda _totally_ wants some, God, my anaconda wants it _all_.”

“Your hotdog doesn't?” Peter quips half-heartedly, because a) he's tired and b), he is distracted by the hands kneading at the muscle of his ass.

“Ah, hotdogging is a _totally_ different thing, baby boy, but we can get to it, we can get to it.” Wait, what the Hell is hotdogging? Did Wade just call him _baby boy_?

“Oh, _holy shit!”_ Peter hisses out, because there is sudden wet warm tongue at his asshole, at his _asshole_ , Wade just licked his asshole and-

He liked it?

“Do that again.” Peter orders hoarsely, and Wade _moans_ at the flesh between Peter's asscheeks, right at the little stretch of skin between his balls and rim. Wade does it again, drags his tongue over the pucker and then presses his tongue _in_ , and oh God, it's a hot New York night and Deadpool's tongue is even hotter but Peter does _not_ want him to stop. “Holy _God._ ”

Wade presses his tongue further, even _further_ and oh God, how long is his tongue? It can't possible be that long, God, and he just _licks_ over the inside of Peter's ass, tracing over his inner walls.

This is wrong. He shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't like the feeling of a hot, wet, _perfect_ tongue pressed against his rim, but Peter is squirming on the bed underneath the older man and is this close to _writhing_ for more. How had he ever considered saying _no_?

“You got such a _perfect_ ass, Petey.” Wade says against the flesh of his left buttock, and then he bites at the flesh with a little nip, his fingers digging into the back of Peter's thighs and making him let out a harsh _cry_ of noise, arching his back straight off the bed as he does so.

Peter's dick is hard, hard and wet at the head and rubbing against the sheets underneath him, and he's going to have to wash those sheets in the morning, he knows it, but it's so _worth_ it. Wade _moans_ against Peter's ass as he thrusts his tongue in again, and he starts thrusting it against his rim, flicking the tip over the pink puckered skin, and Peter is _dying_ to come.

His breaths are coming in harsh and fast, muffled against the pillow he's shoved his face against, and oh, _shit._

“Petey, Petey, Petey...” Wade says, and then he presses two fingers forwards, slick with something – God, did Wade just carry lube around with him? - before pressing his tongue in alongside them as he scissors the digits, and Peter _whines_.

It's a drawn-out sound, long and higher than he'd ever wanted it to be, and there is tension coiling in his belly and his balls are drawn up so tightly he feels like he might _explode_ , but Wade just keeps going as Peter cants his hips up even as he tries to fuck his dick against the sheets underneath him.

“ _Wade_.” Peter manages to bite out, and it's actually difficult to talk, given that all his concentration is on his dick and his ass. “I need to- W _ade_ -” Deadpool shoves his fingers in and _twists_ , and Peter comes with a hoarse, harsh sound that would be a scream if he hadn't bitten into his pillow.

Wade gives a dirty little laugh against Peter's ass, and then he brings his hand down in an affectionate smack that rings through the room – even in his post-orgasmic, suddenly pliable state, a twinge of heat runs through Peter at the hot, slightly painful sensation.

Wade turns him over, then, and pushes Peter up the bed a little so his ass doesn't land in his own spunk, lays his head on Peter's thigh and looks up at him with a sort of weird pout on his scarred lips. Peter guesses that behind the mask he's making puppy dog eyes, but he doesn't seem to have realized that Peter can't see them. “Now, _Petey_ ,” Wade says. “After that, you wouldn't make me sleep in the _chair_ , would ya?”

“The mask comes off.” Peter says, not particularly wanting to wake up to red and black in his face again. “But _fine_.”

“Whee!” says Deadpool brightly, and he slips off the bed, the mask thrown aside before he slides into bed and shoves his _entire_ body against Peter's, wrapping his arms around Peter's hips, and for _God's_ sake. For an assassin, Wade is stupidly needy.

“Are you keeping your boots on?”

“You only said to take off my mask.”

“Deadpool, what the Hell, do you sleep with your boots on?”

“You askin' me whose bed my boots have been under, Petey?” Wade starts singing Shania Twain against his neck, until Peter jabs his elbow back _hard_ into the other man's stomach.

“Shut up.”

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Don't call me sir.”

“Yes, baby _boy_.”

“Don't ca- go to sleep.” Deadpool laughs at him, and his breath is hot and warm on the back of Peter's neck, and his legs are hot too, but-

Somehow, Peter is too sleepy to care. The rimming might have helped with that.

“Night, Wade.”

“Nighty night, Petey. I won't bite the bed bug.”

“What bed b-”

“Heh.”

“Spiders are arachnids, Wade.”

“Bed bug might bite me then.” Peter lets out a heavy sigh, closes his eyes, and affects himself to go to sleep. And, somehow, too warm as he is, Wade's being there actually helps him sleep.

Until Wade wakes him up at eight AM with loud, _awful_ singing about limes and coconuts, that is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you enjoyed that! Check [this link](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/post/160853818533/request-commission-information) out if you’re interested in making a request.


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